Grimm May Cry 3: Dante's Awakening
by Veloran
Summary: Several thousand years have passed since the Grimm warrior Sparda raised his sword against the unholy world to save the residents of Remnant. Victorious and assured that evil forces had been confined, Sparda joined mankind and fathered twin, half-Human half-Grimm sons. Now, their fate will be decided! Who will be victorious; The Grimm hunter Dante, or the Dark Slayer Vergil?
1. Prologue

Grimm May Cry

Prologue: /watch?v=xfEbuXCRjzg

Atop a grand spire, two figures engaged in bloody conflict.

_"You've heard of it haven't you, the legend of Sparda?"_

A thunderous storm crashing down upon them, the figures battled incessantly, a melodious dance of blades and clashing metal.

_"When I was young my father would tell me stories about it."_

Each step, every parry and thrust, a gamble of victory and defeat, life and death.

_"Long ago, in ancient times, a creature of Grimm rebelled against his own kind for the sake of the Human race."_

One of the figures, clad in red and bearing a monstrous broadsword, lunged forward with a brutal overhead blow, only for his blade to impact with a thunderous *CLANG* against the soaked, dark stone at his feet. His opponent had leapt just beyond the blade's reach.

_"With his sword, he laid waste to hordes of Grimm, and sealed away an abominable evil from our Human world._

_But, because of his very own nature, his power was also trapped on the other side."_

Quick as lightning, the other figure, donning blue and wielding a long curving blade, dodged yet another wild strike, the frenzied attack very nearly severing his head from his shoulders. Retorting, he let loose a fervent series of his own arcing swipes, each attack intercepted by the flaring blade of the greatsword.

_"I never believed it. I thought it was just a child's fairy tale."_

Another parry, another riposte; attack after attack, strike after strike, counter after counter. A fleeting glance would show legends locked in equilibrium, neither side gaining advantage, and yet, upon closer inspection, one would see that one of the brothers was, indeed, gaining the upper hand.

_"But I discovered that this so-called legend wasn't a myth at all._

_Sparda existed."_

In the centre of the platform, the two clashed once more, metal crashing against metal, once, twice, three times, each ringing blow shaking the combatants to their very cores.

_"I met the sons of Sparda, both of them."_

Twins they were; each identical, sporting bone-white hair pasted down over icy, focused eyes by the unnatural downpour.

_"Though the same blood of their father flowed through their veins, the two battled each other fiercely like arch enemies."_

A final time the two brought their blades to bear, the unrelenting collision of the two swords, as well as the souls of their wielders, momentarily creating a field through which the torrential waves of rain could not pass.

_"It seemed as if they derived some sort of twisted pleasure from this brotherly fighting."_

Weapons locked, Aura pushed against Aura, heating the connected edges of their blades into a white-hot hue. It would appeared the two were at yet another impasse when, without warning, the katana's master pushed forward, knocking the broadsword from his twin's grip. In shock, the red-coated man hesitated for but a second. The pause was brief, but it was still far, far too long.

Before the spinning greatsword had even touched the ground, the blue warrior plunged his weapon clear to the hilt in his foe's stomach.

For several long moments, neither combatant moved. The red sibling's blood flowed along the blade, before joining with the falling rain. He breathed raggedly, looking up into the victor's eyes -

_"But in the end..."_

- As with a single tug, he tore the katana from the loser's abdomen, flicking the plasma from his weapon's length with a swift turn of his wrist.

Devoid of support, the crimson fighter descended backwards, collapsing down upon the ancient stones.

_"...Only one was left standing."_

For the slightest of moments, the blue warrior seemed to display guilt for his fallen enemy, clutching a half-closed fist to his forehead, only to then slick back his hair with a stylish swipe of the palm. With that one movement, the likeness to his twin faded greatly, the similarity barely noticeable.

Turning from the body of his brother, the azure vanquisher walked away, pausing for but a moment to collect the discarded broadsword. But before two steps had passed, he detected movement - the man in ruby, struggling to lift himself away from the blackened, soaked stones.

In an instant, the conqueror turned and charged, bringing the greatsword down for a savage thrust…

_RIIIING!_

-PAUSE-

/watch?v=Fegi6D_gn1A

Wanna know the name? RevanX77!

...

Hmm...

Not quite as catchy, now that I think of it.

So WHEW! First story around here. Honestly, I can't say I'm not nervous. In fact, one could perhaps guess, not incorrectly, that I'm scared somewhat shitless.

As you may have guessed by the title, minor revisions, and tags (If I'm not a complete dunce and just forgot all about that...) This is a Devil May Cry X RWBY fanfic. Effectivley, it's a WHAT IF!? scenario detailing the DMC universe taking place _within_ the RWBY universe. Basically, this entails a whole bunch of changes to DMC's lore - But not actually all that many changes to it's _plot._ Perhaps a few minor changes to RWBY as well, to accommodate.

Of course, there'll be a few - Quite a few, really - But not anything major for DMC3. Beyond that, expect rather **large** changes. But hell, that's way, way in the future, both in-universe and out.

For the record, we won't be seeing team RWBY itself for the duration of DMC3 - Prequel's a prequel, you know? Though there might be a few "surprise" appearances by certain characters. And to be honest (Just between you and me... Internet), I'm hoping to incorporate more than just the DMC universe here. *_Coughmorehyperactionpeoplecough_* Also, as you may have noticed at the top of the page, music will play a factor - So, y'know, links and all. I swear I won't lead anyone to a jump scare or whatever. (I'll title as much as possible)

Anyway, I've rambled on for far too long. Please, get reviewing, or commenting, or whatever you'd like. Feedback is great! Or terrible! Depends on how scathing it is.

Revan, signing off.

(Warning, writer makes no promises on frequency of updates to this or any fiction)


	2. Mission 01

Grimm May Cry

Mission 01: A Crazy Party (Violent response to an insane caller)

* * *

[6:32PM, Downtown Residential Area, Fortuna City]

_RIIIING!_

_"Maybe.. Resident Evil...?",_ thought the man, lacing up a set of weathered combat boots.

_RIIIING!_

_"... No, that's just stupid...",_ he continued, slipping on a pair of fingerless, jet-black gloves, before snatching up a towel and striding towards the door.

_RIIIING!_

_"... Makes __**me**__ sound like the bad guy.",_ he mused.

_RII-_

Just then, amidst the droning tone of the whining phone, the door flew open with a lazy kick, and a man emerged from the billowing cloud of steam flowing behind him. A certain resemblance could be seen between the fellow and the shoppe proper he was stepping into; Both were sparsely decorated save the slightest of accoutrement. The drab and run-down office had been spiced up by the recent additions of a large pool table, billiards randomly strewn across its surface, a newly acquired set of band equipment, and a colorful, nigh-ancient jukebox set in the corner. The shop's owner was similar in appearance - Sporting a pair of dark grey, fatigue-like pants, discolored, worn-out boots, and black fingerless gloves. From the waist up he was bare, save a silvery medallion inset with a red gem. His hair, currently soaked down, was an unnatural shade of bone-white.

**_RIIIING!_**

Strolling towards the nearby front desk, the man paused only momentarily to lash out with a secondary kick, this one for the carelessly tipped chair resting behind the blackwood workstation. In a single smooth motion, before the settee had ceased its cascading spin, the proprietor slipped into a seated position. Simultaneously, he slammed his crossed legs down onto the table with a resounding ***CRACK*,** sending the receiver of the whining phone directly into his waiting hand, which had since discarded the sodden towel onto the nearby coatrack.

Bringing the old device to his ear, and without sparing a moment to allow the distressed caller a moment to speak, the chalky-haired man spoke;

"Sorry, not open for business yet."

And with those few words, he unceremoniously tossed the handheld back to its resting place with a casual flick of his wrist, the worn receiver - As well as the persistent caller - Being put in its place with a slight, metallic ***click***. Reaching down to an opened box of cold pizza, and with a breathy half-laugh at the edge of his voice, the young man spoke aloud to himself,

"I haven't even picked a name for this joint and I'm already getting' calls.."

Even before he had finished the first bite, a small ringing signaled the entry of a new visitor to the establishment.

The arrival was bald-headed, clutching a small red book to his midsection, and clad head-to-toe in a dark, slimming suit, which accentuated his abnormally looming height. For the briefest of moments, the young proprietor could have nearly mistaken him for a priest, but even in the fading glow of the evening sun he could make out that the man possessed no distinctive collar. With careful, measured steps, the visitor made his way into the shop, each footfall precise and echoing. Fidgeting in his seat, and casting a sidelong glance at the dark fellow between bites of pizza, the young man, behind the desk asked, as though new entry could even have heard the previous call,

"You a customer too?"

Pausing for only a second to note the visitor's response - Of which there was none forthcoming - The reclining owner continued on with a half-hearted sigh,

"Well, if you want to use the bathroom, help yourself. Toilet's in the back.", he finished, nodding his head towards the door behind him.

As he passed the pool table, the bald man slowly ran two fingers across the smooth wooden surface of the sideboard, and finally, in a deep yet meticulous voice, spoke:

"Is your name Dante?"

"Son of Sparda?"

At this, the man behind the desk lowered the half-eaten slice of pizza back into its box, and with a lazy two-fingered gesture in the visitor's direction, said,

"Where did you hear that?"

Now, the bald man had reached the front stand, and Dante could make out uneven, jagged lines of scars running across the left side of his face; As well as a pair of piercing, oddly colored eyes, the right a dusky grey-blue, the left a rusty-red.

"From your brother", the dark man intoned.

"He sent this invitation for you.", he said, raising an empty, open-palmed hand as if to offer a gift.

"Please, accept it."

At that, the hand trailed low, down to the under edge of the dark wooden desk. Sparing a glance between the spindly digits of the menacing man's hand as it began to clasp the table, and his inscrutable face, Dante pushed away from his workstation in an instant - Even as it began to flip, spinning end-over-end scattering its contents around the shop, and shattering the once comfortable chair against the establishment's back wall with a resounding ***SNAP***. Before the traitorous officeware had fully come to a stop, Dante landed upon it, one foot braced against the wall, the other resting on the once-front of the desk. As he began to look up at the attacker, the still-shirtless warrior snatched a falling item from the air in a single swift motion; A steely, Ivory colored handgun. In an instant, both the instrument and his eyes were leveled forward - Only to be met with empty space.

The imposing attacker was gone.

Glancing around, the white-haired man rose to his feet, and with a short hop landed back on the dusty floorboards of his establishment.

"Invitation huh?", he said, raising his left palm, which soon thereafter intercepted the descending box of pizza and it's falling inhabitants.

Turning slightly, he reached into the box and picked up the unforgotten, half-eaten slice he had left within mere moments ago. Taking care not to allow its succulent toppings to come to harm - "_Aside from the olives.", _he thought, amidst the sound of shattering glass, _"Forget the olives." - _Dante slowly brought the slice downwards, towards his waiting mouth-

Only to be suddenly and violently jolted, casting the box and unfinished slice away, as five masked figures impaled him with curved, jagged instruments; Scythes, their long, uneven blades gouging deeply and solidly into his flesh. The foremost figure, directly in front of the bleeding Dante, began to speak in a crude, harsh, nearly animalistic tone of voice, and said,

_**"This is the end for you, spawn of Sparda! Your time has come, and your anguished cries shall be the reckoning bells for the dawn of a new world! Your corpse will mark the first to pave the way towards a glorious-"**_

Before his chortling declaration had finished, an arm shot out, with such force and impact that it separated the speaker from his tightly fastened mask, and launched him cleanly across the length of the shop and out the front set of double-doors, a tiny ringing signaling his departure from the building.

With astonished gasps, the other four figures looked from the swinging door to the figure between them - Who had since caught the attacker's discarded, blackened mask, and was now effortlessly spinning it on his index finger. Without warning, and as though the hunched, shrouded murderers weren't even there, Dante began to walk forward, tugging the harsh blades loose from their shoddily constructed bases in the scythe's grips. In shock, three of the hooded figures stood stock still, only capable of staring as Dante walked away, while a fourth futilely clutched its still-embedded weapon lodged in the white-haired man's shoulder, and was dragged along the splintery floorboards for her trouble.

Striding forward seemingly oblivious to his many wounds, Dante lashed back with a kick, sending the stubborn killer spiraling backwards to crash into her still-stunned group. Simultaneously, he tossed the mask over his shoulder and into the pile of crumpled attackers. Just a few steps ahead was his target; Not the jet-black companion to his Ivory handgun, but the object it lay next to - The miraculously intact pizza box.

Bending low, Dante smoothly scooped up a new segment of pie with his still-impaled left arm, and continued pacing forwards - Towards the nondescript jukebox set in the corner of the shop.

As he neared the dimly lit machine, the white-haired warrior reached up, and without a stutter in his step, tore one of the jagged crescents from his chest. Raising his arm skywards, the deadly instrument was sent flying; Cutting the cord of a swiftly spinning ceiling fan, which then crashed atop three of the regrouping maniacs, the oddly sharp blades slicing them to ribbons.

With his arm raised and single digit still pointing up, Dante had reached his destination. Behind him, yet more masked and armed assailants had entered the store, and were approaching him cautiously from behind. Many of them echoed the same, silent thought; _"How?!", "How could this mere __**boy**__ have sustained such injuries and simply shrugged them off!?", "Even a creature of Grimm should have fallen before -"_

Suddenly, and with a devilish smile stamped on his face, Dante spoke.

"This party's getting' **cuhrayzee**!", he said, voice very slightly betraying a tone of jubilation.

"Let's _rock_!"

With that, Dante brought his arm down and thrust his finger forward, spearing one of the jukebox's start buttons - Track 8, _Seven Hells -_ with a mechanical **click**...

...Only for resounding silence to echo throughout the room.

For a moment, digit lingering on the button, Dante's face fell. Once more he pressed inwards, and then twice more after that.

**Click.**

**Click, click.**

As he pulled away and turned back, a few of the murderers-in-waiting nearly expected Dante to be crestfallen - Making such a big show of things, only to be left with cold feet? - But instead found his wolfish grin had returned. Sparing only a moment to look back, the mechanically disinclined fighter did the unimaginable; He reared up and sharply brought his arm down onto the malfunctioning jukebox, crushing the entire top section of the machine - Which then itself proceeded to defy all logic, and sputtered to life amidst a shower of whizzing, complaining sparks.

_"I love this song.",_ Dante thought, tapping his boot in rhythm with the metallic chords. _"A little music really does liven things up."_

Still bearing an excited countenance, Dante twisted around, cracked his knuckles, and began to cut loose.

...

[6:48PM, 66 Slum Avenue, _Dusty Trails,_ room 17-B]

"Hey, dad?", a young girl called, staring intently out of her second floor tenement's window.

"Yes dear?", her father hollered back, not looking up from his copy of _Vytal Times_.

"Could... Could you come take a look at this? I think something's going on outside."

With a stifled sigh, the rotund man set aside his paper. Ambling over to his daughter's location, he said,

"Now now, what's so important that it couldn't wait until I've finished my paper?! Especially after it was so la-"

"Oh. Hm."

"I know, right!", the girl exclaimed, all but pressing her face against the glass to get a better look.

On the street below, people were on the move, dozens upon dozens of figures swarming the small thoroughfare. Each and every one seemed to have the same destination; A small, nondescript two-story domicile. As the two observed the spectacle, they could begin to make out harsh music reverberating from the building, the tinny chords echoing all the way up to their quarters. Almost in tune with the clamor, sharp flashes of light flared though the residence's windows at a steady pace.

"What's happening down there?", the girl asked, "Do you think we should call someone?"

"Call someone?", her father said, "Why, what ever for?"

"Well, it looks like there's a fight-"

"A fight!? Nonsense."

"W-what? But, just look!", she exclaimed. Even as she pointed down, one figure crashed through a second-story window of the shop, landing in a glass-strewn heap on the curb below.

"I see! It seems like _quite_ the affair, doesn't it?"

"Uhm... Affair?", the girl asked, incredulous.

"Celebration! Carousal! Festivity, function, shindig, soiree, hoedown, revelry, recreation,_ hoopla, __fiesta_, **_jambor-_**"

"A party." she burst out, finally cutting him off.

"Precisely!", he declared.

Looking to the street once more, the girl again noted the blasting music, flashes of light, and mob of bodies that appeared to be all-to-eager to enter the abode across the way.

"I... Ah... Sure.", she conceded, the similarities piecing together in her mind.

For a few minutes more, the two observed the spectacle. New waves of partygoers streamed towards the building in quick succession, and on occasion one would be unceremoniously ejected from one of the structure's many ports.

"Sooo...", the girl began once more, turning nonchalantly to her father with a wry smile, "Any chance I could head on down?"

* * *

[6:59PM, Dante's office, Downtown Residential Area]

_Ta-tink_

"No way.", Dante mumbled, just as the last ceiling fan detached from its mooring and plummeted to the floor.

_Ta-tink_

_"What a freakin' mess."_

The white-haired warrior sat reclining on the remains of his overturned desk, idly turning a massive greatsword this way and that as he looked over the ruins of his shop.

_"The pool table's completely wrecked.. Maybe should've held off on slicing it up."_

_Ta-tink_

_"There's bullet holes all over the place..."_

_Ta-tink_

_"Not to mention all the band equipment! I mean, I wasn't all **that** great, but one day, y'know?"_

_Ta-tink_

_"Figured Enzo was gonna freak when he found out I spent so much of his loan on that old jukebox, but now that it's totaled too..?!"_

In annoyance, Dante reached up to scratch the back of his neck, _"And dammit! I never even got 'ta finish-"_

Just at that second, above the odor of blood and spent Dust casings, Dante's nose twitched. It had caught a scent; That of crisp baked bread, laced with rich tomato sauce, and a hint of olive oil. Frantically casting his eyes about, the source of the smell was quickly detected. Astoundingly, against all conceivable odds, the pizza had survived the chaos of battle, and lie like a beacon of sweet, grease-coated hope in the center of the warzone.

_"Oh man.", _the Hunter-for-hire thought as he hopped down from his shattered desk, pupils alight and mouth already watering in anticipation as he closed in on the waiting pie. As he stretched down to retrieve his quarry, Dante thought _"Talk about a silver-lining! Guess this wasn't a total loss after al-"_

In that instant a waiting attacker, in some maddened last-ditch lust for the Grimm-killer's blood, leapt from his shadowed hiding spot on the second floor, and landed right in front of Dante - Inadvertently crushing the pizza with a dingy boot. Grinding the pie into slop as he fought for leverage, the monster reared back with an atrocious roar and brought its jagged scythe down towards-

***BANG***

_"..."_

For a few long moments, Dante could only stare forward, wordless, at where the killer had fallen. Eventually he lowered his white handgun, Ivory, and let loose a heavy sigh. Wordlessly he turned to retrieve the crimson, custom-made jacket that sat perched on the nearby coatrack - Which then itself promptly collapsed under its own weight. After quickly donning the garment, and with his steely grey broadsword Rebellion in hand, the Huntsmen pivoted on his heel and paced towards the exit.

Pausing at the entryway, the Son of Sparda rotated one last time to take in the devastation that once was his burgeoning business.

"I can already tell," he said, another too-eager grin beginning to spread across his face as he raised a foot to kick down the set of double-doors, "looks like this is gonna' be one _hell_ of a par-"

Abruptly the portal blew open, _inward,_ as a barrage of debris exploded into the building.

-PAUSE-

A/N

Hello, Veloran here! It's been a while. (So long in fact, I've decided to change my username.)

Apologies for the huge delay between updates, but frankly I'm just an extremely slow writer. I'll do my best to get new chapters up sooner, but again, no promises. Just keep in mind that unless otherwise stated, there _will_ be updates. It just might take some time.

ANYWHO, from now on each chapter will be written with Dante's signature styles in mind. Namely, Trickster (Focusing on quick dodges and dazzling movement to run circles around the enemy), Swordmaster (Emphasis on powerful melee combat with Rebellion), Gunslinger (Utilizing ranged combat and taking down enemies from afar with Ebony and Ivory), and Royalguard (Timed hand-to-hand blocking and deflection resulting in powerful counterattacks).

For anyone who would like to see a particular style be the flavor of the next chapter, just say so via reviews or private messages. The styles with the most "votes" will be the method of combat Dante focuses on in the approaching installment. (Notably, I've skipped the first battle of the game in this chapter. He begins with Trickster as a default, for those who would like to know.)

If nobody says anything on the styles (Which would be quite unfortunate...) I'll just choose one of the four myself, and note which it may be in the previous chapter's A/N. (Gunslinger, for the next update.)

Whelp, I suppose that's my peace for today. Any questions or concerns, you know how to reach me. Mission 02 will be up when it's ready. Until then, Veloran signing off!


	3. Mission 02

Grimm May Cry

Mission 02: The Blood Link (Gunslinger)

* * *

[7:04PM, Dante's office, Downtown Residential Area]

_Oh come **on** already._

"This happens every time, I swear.", Dante murmured quietly between fits of sporadic hacking, particles of grime escaping his lungs with every breath.

After a few more moments of shuddering wheezes, the Hunter hauled himself afoot and spared another glance about his once-new home. If it were even possible, the structure was even _more_ decrepit. Each and every remaining window had been blasted in, the faded walls were cracked, seemingly on the verge of collapse, the distinct sound of spraying water echoed from the restroom, and Dante could've sworn the entire building was tilting awkwardly.

_I go for the cool one-liner, and somethin' has to go and break the moment... And my house. Typical._

Shaking his head in disgust, Dante marched from the desiccated office, hurriedly dusting the grit from his attire every step of the way.

_Thought those mooks were crazy, but I didn't figure them for the sort to set off a **bomb** right outside my... Outside... Well._

"I believe I may have underestimated the extent of this situation slightly.", the fighter voiced, taking in the sight before him.

The whole of Rosso Drive - Indeed, most of the Residential District, as far as Dante could see at the very least - Was in ruins. Buildings listed this way and that, some having crumpled in on themselves or toppled entirely, still others embedded with massive twisted chunks of concrete, like shrapnel from an oversized carronade. The Drive itself was lined with a spider's web of fissures, and the air lay thick with a smothering haze of still-settling refuse.

And in the distance, at the very center of Fortuna, stood a fresh landmark. A tower, dwarfing all else in the metropolitan skyline, had arisen seemingly from nowhere and soared nearly to the wispy cloud layer hanging above the city. Even from such a span, Dante could almost _feel_ it's influence. The monolith practically exuded its own Aura, emanating wave after wave of oppression, anxiety, and dread over every fiber of-

***Cough***

In an instant, the Huntsman was snapped from his revelry. Shaking his head clear, Dante turned to the source of the small inflection; Collapsed the middle of the street, coated in the same dust that plagued every inch of the neighborhood, lay a young girl. Perhaps two or three years Dante's junior, she seemed dressed for some kind of celebration, with sleek form-fitting jeans, and a chic brown jacket over her blouse. Eyes shut tight against the harsh soot, she appeared to be in the midst of hacking up a lung.

_Well, may as well be a good samaritan.,_ the swordsman thought with a slight sigh, trudging over to the fallen girl.

Nudging her with a boot, Dante offered an open palm down and said, nearly annoyed, "Hey kid, need a hand?"

After another spattering of whooping coughs, she roughly wiped the grime from her eyes with one sleeve started to speak - Only to come to a stuttering halt, gaping at the white-haired warrior.

A few short moments passed like that, Dante's arm extended and the girl just gawking at him dumbly, until Dante broke the awkward silence, "Soo... Any time this year?"

Blinking quickly, the girl hurriedly clamored to her feet, ignoring Dante's hand in favor of fervently attempting to swat the dust from her clothes. Glancing about apprehensively in no particular direction, she began to speak breathlessly, words forming into an almost-totally incoherent blur, "I'msorryguessIwasjustexcitedtogettotheblockpartymust'vetrippedmyfaultI'lljustbeonmywaynow."

"You didn't trip."

Already half-turned away, the girl swiveled back towards Dante, who was standing, arms-crossed, with a sly half-smirk on his face. Wordlessly he inclined his head up, to the far off tower.

For nearly a full minute she stared, utterly transfixed by the structure. Every second her eyes lay on the edifice, thoughts of dismay, horror and near-panic slowly flooded her mind, a droning white noise that-

"I know, right?", the Hunter said, breaking the brunette from her trance. As she brought a hand up to clear her fuzzy mind, Dante spoke up once more, his smirk widening. "Though, depending on how 'ya look at things, it is pretty _trippy_, yeah?"

With an internal groan, the girl removed the palm from her face and tiredly asked, "Who are you?"

"Me?", Dante said, grin still plastered across his face, "Well, I like to think of myself as a 'conflict mediator', but that's mostly because-"

"Your _name_."

Unperturbed at the interruption, the Huntsmen shrugged, casually extending an arm. "Dante."

Beginning to outstretch her own hand, the girl replied, "Patricia. Patricia Por-"

"_**PATTY**_!"

Abruptly, a salt-and-pepper blur burst onto the street, rushing at a breakneck pace towards the two. Before Dante could even ready his weapons, the figure had crashed full-bore into Patricia, and snatched her up into a crushing... Hug?

"Thank goodness... Thank goodness you're okay!"

Fingers half-curled around the hilt of Rebellion, Dante watched on as the man - Stocky and barrel-chested, with chestnut hair just beginning to give way to a layer of grey - continued to clutch unrelentingly, despite the girl's squeaks of protest. "D-dad! C'mon! Put me _down_!"

_I guess if there was ever a time to bail..._

Relaxing his guard and raising a half-hearted hand in a gesture of farewell, the warrior said, "Anyway... That'll be _my_ good deed for the week. Later."

"You!", the older man exclaimed, thrusting a finger towards Dante with his free arm and stepping closer, "_You_ saved my daughter?"

Halting his turn and looking back towards the stout man, the redbacked fighter responded, "Uh... I wouldn't really put it like-"

"Well then my boy! I owe you a great debt." the rotund fellow asserted, advancing almost uncomfortably close. "Name your remuneration! If it is within my purview, I'll see to it!"

Leaning away - Specifically from the girl's still-flailing limbs - Dante shrugged, and jerked a thumb back toward his ruined establishment. "Unless you've got enough to fix up _that_, I'm not sure-"

Bellowing once more, the broad father assessed the damaged structure from the bottom up, "Of course! Why, a little spit and polish, and no dwelling is beyond the rehabilitation of the legendary Peter... Oh, _my_."

"See?", Dante said, not even bothering to glance at the depressing sight. "Total lost cause."

"N-no," 'Peter' stuttered, lancing out with a digit once more, this time to the roof. "Look!"

Sensing alarm in his voice, Dante swiveled about to face the dilapidated structure. It took little time to discern the reason for the portly man's concern.

"You should probably hit the road, old man."

"What, what about yo- _I beg your pardon_?", he vented, offended at the insinuation. "I'll have you know-"

"Look buddy," the swordsman said, eyes still focused on the myriad of figures perched along his rooftop, "You're not alone here, so it's about time to hightail it, understand?"

Suddenly the girl, still clasped to her father's chest, spoke up. "What's happening? I can't see! **Would you put me down already**?!"

Glancing between the daughter in his arms and Dante, Peter's choice was obvious. Worry evident, he conceded somberly, "Good luck, young man.", and hurriedly fled back to the building he'd emerged from. Just as he crossed the threshold, Dante caught 'Patty's" parting words. "_You'd never do this to Eddy_!"

_Tch._

_The things I gotta' put up with..._

"Well guys..." Dante said, strolling into the middle of the drive and casually unholstered the pistols from his lower back, gesturing them in a flashy twirl towards the wrecked shop. "Now that we're all alone, whadd'ya say you enlighten me on how you plan to **_pay for all this_**?"

[A/N: "Lock & Load" - watch?v=Pl7IA7uUCVm]

At Dante's exclamation, a cacophonous cry echoed from the shrouded attackers, black and red shawls trailing behind as they jumped from the building. The Gunslinger vaulted to meet them, the barrels of Ivory and Ebony flashing again and again as Dante dodged countless oncoming scythian blades, brazenly leaping from enemy to enemy as if they were stepping-stones.

At the apex of his climb the acrobatic fighter skipped off the faceplate of the last, slowest assassin - _Seventeen in all. Piece of cake._ - and abruptly flipped one-hundred and eighty degrees in midair, spinning a whirling rain storm of .45 piercing rounds down onto a number of his opponents. As he registered two with weaker Aura falling beneath the barrage, Dante's arcing path brought him into contact with the eave of his destroyed roof. In the moment his feet braced against the structure, Dante swiftly returned the twin-pistols to their holsters, unsheathing Rebellion from his back just as he pushed off from the edge. Angling downwards Dante brought the dire broadsword into a crippling helmbreaker, carving the mask of the sluggish murderer still suspended in mid-fall, visage craned back in disbelief even as the blade cleaved straight through to smash against the pavement below with a satisfying ***CLANG***.

Before the bisected body of his assailant had reached the ground, Dante lunged forward in a sudden, stinging thrust, impaling yet another attacker weakened by his bombardment, and the stunned man was blown across the street amidst a froth of viscous blood by the force of the blow. Whooping laugh on his lips, the red-coated Hunter suddenly flung Rebellion skyward, and instead brought up his twin handguns, spraying double lines of fire to either side even as he sprang backwards - And just like that two over-ambitious assaulters, eager for a quick kill, collapsed together in a heap on the spot Dante had been standing but a moment ago. As his remaining foes pulled back into a loose defensive circle, recoiling at the loss of six of their number so quickly, Dante spoke up.

"Guys... Is _that_," he yelled, gesturing towards the cloaked forms crumpled on the cracked pavement, "_really_ all you've got?! Show me a good time!"

For a few moments the cloaked assailants held position, standing stock-still with their wicked blades posed defensively. But without warning, and screeching a shrill cry of distress for her fallen comrades, one broke formation to charge Dante head on, followed quickly by another, both enraged by his irreverent taunts. As they closed on the Huntsman he unloaded round after round of Dust-infused shells at the oncoming duo, the specially constructed rounds felling not only the oncoming attackers before they could connect with Dante, but also yet two more in the hesitant group behind, that had carelessly let their defenses fall during the rush. Realizing their peril as sitting targets, many of the hesitant group began their own dash towards the Huntsman, madly rushing in on all sides.

_It's like they're not even trying._

Dante's twin pistols began to spark, enveloped in a sinister veneer of crackling, crimson energy, as though they were emitting an Aura of their own.

_Well, if they don't feel like putting up a fight..._

With one last twirl of his weapons, Dante unleashed Dust in every direction, the black and white guns weaving into a wild twosome dance as he twisted and turned, rapidly firing Ivory to cut down his opponent's defenses moments before Ebony lined up a perfect shot to execute the killing blow. The shawled attackers found themselves nearly helpless against the onslaught, dropping singularly or in pairs, the oddly-infused bullets finding their marks without fault. For minutes the barrage continued, unabated, until at _last,_ having cleverly used the debris lining the street for cover as he advanced, one red-cloaked murderer lunged at Dante from behind.

Maddened, hoisting his blade in a savage overhead blow, he began to scream a gibbering proclamation of victory - Only to be met with the Hunter's foot mid-flight, thrown back in a crushing kick to the abdomen. Bringing his foot down, a deafening ***CRACK*** rang out; Though whether it was from the attacker's ribs or the pavement beneath him, Dante couldn't quite tell.

As he leveled his pistols at the dazed attacker Dante smiled - But abruptly, the weapons were returned to their holsters, their wielder leaning back and shifting awkwardly. Dazed, the masked man stared at Dante in confusion, who merely jerked a thumb upwards. Bewildered, the assassin glanced beyond, into the sky, and saw only a grey-black overcast... But, _no_, it seemed as though a small point, one individual cloud was gyrating oddly. In fact, it seemed to be _expanding_, encompassing the entirety of the vast void, filling his field of vie-

[A/N: Cut]

Dante couldn't help but grimace slightly as Rebellion impacted, the point cleaving dead-on between the eyeslots of the unfortunate man's faceplate, spraying matter every which way.

"Geeze,", he murmured, glancing about at the carnage arrayed around him, before retrieving the blade and sliding it into the Grimm-leather loop that served as it's sheath. "Where did they get these shmucks? Not exactly bright..."

Shrugging, Dante stepped from the body of his fallen enemy, and wandered into an intersection of the Drive. From here he could partially see down 66th Avenue, blocked as it was heaps of debris. But more importantly, far in the distance, the towering... _Tower._

_Speaking of bright, I might need to expand my vocabulary sometime. Maybe read a book or whatev-_

Mid-thought, Dante caught movement. Perched atop a building on the nearby Avenue, silhouetted against the sinking evening sun, stood a figure. Even from a distance, he made note of long pitch-black rags draped across its frame, billowing in the breeze. Without warning it raised something, a massive, wickedly curving blade of similar design to those still clutched by the bodies lining Rosso - And in an instant, it had moved, replaced by an odd explosion of perse smoke. It continued like that, popping from rooftop to rooftop, closing on Dante, until at last it appeared atop the _Dusty Trails_ motel, dexterously twirling its huge scythe as though it had been born to it. With a chortling, unearthly laugh, it disappeared once more.

Baffled, Dante glanced to and fro, unsure as to where the man had gone. Relaxing his grip around Rebellion slowly loosened. _Huh. Not really sure what I was expecting. Probably something instead'a noth-_

Abruptly, his vision grew blackened, obscured for a brief moment. As it cleared, Dante was suddenly face-to-mask with the wispy wacko, it's looming stature somewhat surprising at such a close distance. His glance traveling up, the Huntsman noted the massive blade was raised above its head again, but this time something was different; Rather than a dingy black, its outer edge seemed to stained crimson.

Eyes widening, Dante brought a hand up to his abdomen - Just in time to catch rivets of blood spilling from the shallow, vertical wound.

Leaping back the maniac choked out another throaty laugh, all the while twisting it's weapon to-and-fro as if to taunt the read-coated Hunter for his ineptitude. Yet as Dante's own raucous chuckle joined in, his seemed to died off.

"You know," Dante said, languidly drawing Rebellion as the laceration across his chest sealed itself shut, "I was beginning to think he didn't take me seriously, sending those chuckleheads and all."

[A/N: "Public Enemy" - watch?v=rnGPTR228hw]

"Nice to know I wasn't _completely_ right."

Another oration then erupted from the shawled scythe-wielder's lungs once more, this time one of attack and not false merriment. Dashing forward, he brought his blade about in a wide, sweeping slice, only to be blocked by the braced breadth of Rebellion. Edging closer, Dante brought up Ivory with his free hand, and unceremoniously unloaded half a dozen rounds, nearly point-blank into the masked man's torso - Only for him to release the scythe's offensive pressure, whip it fully around, and slam the staff end straight into the Gunslinger's face. Head lashed back Dante stumbled away, unleashing more fire in his enemies' direction, yet as he recovered from the blow he saw the road before him was empty, merely a few dissipating strands of smoke remaining where the black-cloaked man had stood moments ago.

_That's going to get annoying really quickly._

Stashing his handgun and hefting Rebellion defensively, Dante warily scanned the Drive, now acutely aware of just how deafening the din of panic across the city had become. Emergency sirens echoed in every direction, offset not only by the cacophony of Fortuna's citizenry in the midst of confusion, but also the rumbling, straining groans of protest by the city's infrastructure as it settled from the tower's eruption. Closer to home Rosso's power lines quietly hummed on electrically, letting loose an occasional ***ZIIP* **of malfunction, as the evening winds buffeted on from the East, billowing in more roughly with every passing second.

Abruptly Dante spun about, tilting to the side even as he thrust Rebellion forward in a vicious stab, simultaneously avoiding an oncoming scythian slash and spearing the cloaked attacker with his own momentum - But heedlessly, he continue forward as though no injury had been sustained. Rotating, he let loose a flurry of wild hacks at the alarmed Hunter, the whirling scythe blurring into a single disk of grey-black metal. Twisting this way and that, his onslaught forced Dante to use the flat of his blade as a makeshift shield instead of a deadly weapon, forcibly setting the red-coated swordsman into a backpedaling retreat.

Without warning the masked man disappeared again, leaving another cloud of vapor in his wake, yet rather than hide he pushed the advantage, teleporting seemingly at random around Dante, striking in a flash, and vanishing once again. In just a few short moments, the street became enveloped in a choking fog, thicker even than that of the still-settling debris. Nearly blind, Dante continued his defense, intercepting blows from every angle more due to anticipatory instinct than training. Still, he was faltering. A forced, awkward dodge here, a clumsy parry there, it was only a matter of time until -

Suddenly, Dante's footing faltered. The pavement below, already uneven and fractured, now seemed indistinct and sodden beneath the Huntsman's boots. Even as he splayed an arm out to rebalance himself, something rose into his field of view; A grinning, repulsive faceplate. Catching a barely-audible cackle as it passed mere inches from his face, Dante felt a swift, harsh tug of his opponent's scythe tear Rebellion from his loosened grasp, sending the blade hurtling towards the sky. Without warning, the imposing attacker's laughter cut out over the white-haired warrior, reappearing an instant later much further down Rosso. As the maddened mirth began to close the distance, Dante started to reach back for his pistols, only to hesitate as a voice rang out from above.

_"YOUNG MAN!",_ came a cry, echoing down from the nearby inn. Through the smog, glinting against the setting sun's radiation, an item hurtled towards Dante. Casting off the hesitation, his arm snapped up to snatch it, and spinning with its momentum Dante leveled the weapon forward - Just as his attacker broke through the miasma, rounded sockets of his faceplate staring down twin, loaded barrels.

***BOOM***

With no time to maneuver or activate his Semblance, the enshawled man was left with no recourse but to take the full brunt of the blast. Evidently, whatever protection that had shrugged off rounds from Dante's handguns or bodyblows from Rebellion didn't extend to a full spread of leaden Dust pellets point-blank to the face, if his tumbling form skidding across the pavement was any indication. Dante watched as the ragged man rolled end-over-end, halting by way of sharp crash into a tilted city light poll, and for a few moments more continued to hold the shotgun's sights on his still, immobile body.

[A/N: Cut]

Eventually, satisfied that no shenanigans were afoot, Dante lowered the weapon, doubling over with a sigh of relief.

_Well,_ the Huntsman thought, breathing deeply, _That could've gone better._

Straightening himself, Dante turned, looking towards the window from whence the short one-handed shotgun had originated, and saw that it's deliverer was the same, similarly stocky older man he'd met in the street earlier. Seemingly jubilant, his arms were outstretched, throwing out two hearty thumbs up even as a third arm - Presumably that of his daughter - Struggled to reach past his bulk and bear the same gesture.

With a small grimace, Dante thrust his own thumb up to the duo, before flipping the double-barreled weapon over and raising it grip-first, offering it back, only for the portly man to sheepishly wave him off with a laugh. Cupping a hand about his mouth, Port yelled down, "IT'S YOURS NOW BOY! MUSN'T PASS ON A GIFT FREELY GIVEN!"

Smile now fully genuine, and with a final wave up, Dante strode from Rosso, into the adjoining 66th street.

Yet, as he stared up at the looming, distant tower, his pace slowed, coming to a halt only a few feet into the cracked roadway.

"'From your brother...'", he said, tone hushed and hardly audible.

Eyes focused tightly on the apex of the structure, Dante slowly began to raise his voice with each word, knowing it would never carry so far, but not caring.

"It's been over a year since we last met. Where does the time go?"

"No doubt you've got some fun planned for me!"

Continuing to stride forward, the Son of Sparda spread his arms out wide, as if to embrace someone.

"Right_ Vergil!?"_

* * *

-Mission Clear-

A/N

Whew! It's (Again) been a while, but another chapter down!

Once more, terribly sorry for the long wait, but I'm just damned slow. That's all there really is to it. Rest assured, there's no hiatus or anything, and I'll continue to update unless otherwise explicitly stated in one of these author's notes. Currently, I'm aiming to type up a few chapters at once, so I can release them over a period of a couple weeks/a month, and thus be able to write the next few afterwards without worry about the update schedule. So... Expect an extra long while between this update and the next, I suppose. Sorry.

Anyway, I've sort of been ruminating on leaving a movelist in these final author's notes, something similar to what exists in the game, but I'm thinking that would be a bit unwieldy. Even so, if you've played any of the Devil May Cry games, certain actions Dante takes will likely appear very familiar to you. If nobody has any suggestions to the contrary, next chapter will be Trickster. Next Mission: PLOT, and finally some more damned RWBY characters. Also, it occurs to me now, but an A/N of "Cut" means to, well, cut the music. About which, what is the prevailing opinion? Considering music is a big part of the atmosphere in both DMC and RWBY, it only seemed right to have certain tracks accompanying certain scenes. Good idea, or bad? And additionally, for those that would like it, I've linked a few reference images in my profile. Check them out, if you're interested.

Oh! And more reviews, messages, comments and questions are always appreciated! Could always use some extra MOTIVATION, you know. ;)

Whelp, that's me for now! Next one will, as usual, be up when it's up. Until then, Veloran signing off!


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